


i'd like the calamari, please

by amosanguis



Series: unfinished [11]
Category: Psych
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e11 Lassie Did a Bad Bad Thing, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:21:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amosanguis/pseuds/amosanguis
Summary: Shawn’s never needed his “psychic” powers to identifyhomo architeuthidae.





	i'd like the calamari, please

**Author's Note:**

> I don't feel like waiting until I get back into Psych to finish this, but I also didn't want to toss it. If anyone wants to finish it or adopt it that's fine.

-z-

Shawn’s never needed his “psychic” powers to identify _homo architeuthidae_.

They always averaged out above six-feet-tall and usually had tempers to match their size – not that Shawn could blame them, really. He’d be grumpy too if he not only had to carry the weight of ten extra limbs but had to do it while keeping said limbs from view and under his skin.

The tattoos were pretty dope, though.

-

The first time Shawn meets Carlton Lassiter – Shawn _knows_.

He tries to drop hints that he knows, but Lassie dutifully ignores them all and doesn’t so much as blink.

It’s infuriating and Shawn’s not entirely sure why.

-

Okay, so maybe there’d been a big die-off of the _architeuthidae_ a hundred years ago, a plague that’d been kicked up during World War II that had spread from soldier to soldier throughout first Europe, then Russia, then into the Pacific theater, before finally hitting North America.

After that, and with millions dead, it’d’ve been easier to find a unicorn than someone with those tell-tale tattoos moving across their skin.

Speaking of the tattoos—

In the wake of the plague, the detailed tattooing of _architeuthidae_ limbs became popular. At first it was read by social scientists as a reaction to the sudden loss of loved ones, but as years passed the designs became less realistic and more fantastical (especially where the hectocotylus was concerned, lol).

None of this to say that the _architeuthidae_ were gone completely, of course, they just weren’t—they weren’t as _present_ as they had been before.

They were just a little harder to find.

-

Shawn glares at Lassiter’s back.

Lassie isn’t wearing his suit jacket and Shawn knows this means that Lassie’s sleeves will be rolled and if he could just find a way to get Lassie to turn _just a little—_

Juliet clears her throat and Shawn isn’t ashamed to admit that he startled and maybe squeaked as he whirls around to face her – _caught_.

“You know it’s rude to stare,” she says, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrow lifted in judgement.

Shawn sighs and glances back over to Lassie – who’d turned to face the noise – and Shawn immediately looks down at Lassie’s arms.

They were bare.

Shawn flicks his eyes back up to meet Lassie’s and Lassie has the _nerve_ to simply stand up, close the file he was reading, and just _wink_ at Shawn before he starts rolling down his sleeves and shrugs back into his jacket.

“I’m working on something here, Jules,” Shawn says, not taking his eyes off Lassiter.

Shawn’s been with one or maybe three _architeuthidae_ before and the sex is always glorious. It’s said they’re not good at long-term relationships (that temper thing) but, hey, neither is Shawn, so that’s never been a problem. Now, that’s not to say they still don’t get insanely jealous and territorial. Case in point—

Shawn let’s slip Lassie’s name _one time_ while he’s with Ty – it shouldn’t be a big deal. At least, that’s what he keeps saying as Ty’s multitude fling first Shawn, then Shawn’s clothes across the room and then out the front door – leaving Shawn aching and sweating and so, _so_ naked on Ty’s (immaculate, of course, because _architeuthidae_ can’t be anything less than perfect) front lawn.

By the time Shawn gets himself home and into the shower, he’s still half-hard and he makes a noise of frustration as he takes himself in hand. He can still feel the ghosts of Ty’s hands, his dick, his tentacles – his mouth working on the side of Shawn’s neck – but, like he did earlier, he replaces Ty’s face and Ty’s voice with Lassiter’s.

Shawn feels guilty, he always does, but Shawn’s shameless with his selfishness – something he’d _thought_ he shared with Ty – and Shawn’s never been one to wrestle with his self-control either – he knows what makes him hard (imagining Lassie being the one hovering over him, Lassie’s multitude spreading him wide and holding him there), what makes him happy (coming to all those images) – and so he goes with it and deals with the guilt of it all later.

Seeing Lassie in a rage does it for a Shawn.

And Shawn doesn’t mean when he and Gus rile Lassiter to the point he’s storming off – Shawn means like what he’s seeing now: when there’s not enough strength between the five uniforms pulling Lassiter off the FBI agent; when the simple white dress shirt and gun harness do nothing to hide the way Lassiter’s muscles are bulging with a sudden change in mass (Shawn would bet the pay from his next case that if he peeled away the shirt, Lassie’s tattoos would be flexing, the color of them getting more and more more vivid as his multitude threatened to break the surface of his skin).

It’s all enough to make Shawn swoon – like, _physically_ swoon. He sways forward and whines high in the back of his throat and the only thing that keeps him from rushing Lassie right then and there is Gus’s arm wrapping around his chest.

Shawn covers the whine with a few quick coughs as he tries to compose himself.

He looks over to Gus, says, “Never mention that to anyone.”

Gus just rolls his eyes and jerks his head at Chief Vick, who was now declaring the area a crime scene. “I think we’ve got bigger things to worry about,” Gus says.

Shawn would never consider himself an _architeuthidae_ groupie – he just has a type, okay? When it comes to women – he likes them smaller than him; when it comes to men – he likes them, well, _large_. And, really, if he wasn’t so busy trying to get Lassie off the hook for this whole murder thing, Drimmer would totally be his type.

Drimmer who shows up on a jog just as Shawn’s gotten his peanuts and Shawn can’t help the way his eyes track down Drimmer’s arms – his tattoos shivering, flexing, as his multitude moved under his skin, the color of them shifting under the lights from the lampposts and nearby buildings.

Shawn cocked his head to the side in curiosity as he looked down at the multitude – to Shawn, it almost looked like Drimmer might be agitated, but Shawn dismissed the idea and chalked up the behavior of Drimmer’s multitude to simple adrenaline from his jog. Shawn forces himself to meet Drimmer’s eyes, ignoring the instinct telling him to keep an eye on the way Drimmer’s tentacular clubs were extending down to Drimmer’s fist, as if readying for a fight.

Shawn keeps up the small talk, even as he steps backwards. _Architeuthidae_ were a fun bunch for sex, but Shawn wanted absolutely nothing to do with getting into a fight with one of them.

By the time he notices the black smudges on Drimmer’s finger tips, it’s too late.

The pistol connects with the back of Shawn’s head and it takes Shawn a second to realize the roaring in his ears isn’t just the sound of rushing blood.

Shawn looks up just in time to see a tentacle dart out from underneath Lassie’s shirt and into a bowl – coming back out only half-a-second later with a pistol already aimed and firing. Drimmer spins from the force of the bullet as he collapses – Shawn forcing himself to his feet, stumbling, as he tries to put distance between himself and Drimmer’s body.

But Shawn can’t seem to find his feet – blows to the head did that to a person – and he thinks he’s just about to give up and fall to the floor, when something curls around first his wrist, then his waist, then moves across his back.

“Thanks, Lassie,” Shawn says, his breath hitching as the tender way Lassiter’s multitude were cradling him and holding him upright.

[then there’s sex, but not many feelings]

-z-

End.


End file.
